A Newsies Christmas Carol
by AJ McLeod
Summary: Morris Delancy is supernaturally confronted about his lack of Christmas Spirit, Peace and anything even remotely resembling goodwill towards men.


**Hello all! This was written as a gift fic for the lovely Hair as part of the NML 2011 Secret Santa GiftFic Exchange. I don't own anything that you recognize. Thank you :D**

Morris Delancy hated Christmas. He hated everything about it; the crowds, the weather, the fact that his only employee just HAD to have the day off. It was ludicrous, and as he saw things, it was a day to waste precious time on the frivolous. Some years ago, after their Uncle Weisel had passed on, Morris and Oscar took over the newsstand that he owned and operated. It had been a good partnership, him and Oscar. He'd take care of the books, and Oscar would handle the people. Then the business grew, they hired another person to help Oscar with the customers. They'd found a kid who was interested in journalism and so Kid Blink started working for Delancy and Sons Newspapers.

Of course that had all gone out the window when Oscar was taken down by a particularly bad case of pneumonia. The younger Delancy had never had a strong immune system. Several times, in fact, when they were younger Oscar was stricken with some sort of disease; it usually took him several weeks as is to get over things. So now his brother, his partner in crime was gone, and on Christmas Eve no less, he was the grouchiest person in the entire city. Perhaps that was why he hated the season so much; it held such bad memories for him. Everyone around him knew when the weather turned colder that Morris would be crueler than usual, and that is saying a lot. For it was rumored, that he once glared at a starving rat and the rat up and died right on the spot. No one could ever prove it of course, but most believed it all the same. And none believed it more than Kid Blink himself, for he was the one that bore the brunt of Morris' cruelty.

"Mr. Delancy, perhaps we could get a space heater for the stand?" he suggested one particularly frigid day.

"And waste money on something that is unnecessary?" Morris growled.

"Sir, I can't feel my hands, I can't tell if I'm giving out the right change and that could cost you money," Blink argued.

"If your register is a penny off, it'll come out of your check!"

"Sir, please, I have rent to pay, food to put on the table. And-well sir, I hate to mention it, but little Jim he's been feeling poorly as of late and the doctor bills are piling up. And it's Christmas sir!"

"Christmas, Bah! Find a way to make do without the heater or you'll see what Christmas is like for the unemployed!" Morris yelled. Poor Blink shook where he stood, blowing on his hands to put some sort of feeling back into them. He shook his head, perhaps, there was a human side to Mr. Delancy…it just wasn't visible to the naked eye he decided.

"You know Blink, this recession is the best thing that's ever happened to Delancy and Sons. More people out of work means that they buy more papers and my profits go up. Maybe more should be unemployed."

"You can't mean that sir!" Blink gasped in shock as he shut the front of the newsstand.

"Oh I do. I suppose you want the day off tomorrow?" Morris asked grumpily.

"Well it is customary," Blink said.

"Customary? Custom be hanged!"

"No one else will be open; most people won't even be out, especially if the weather keeps up."

"Fine have it your way," Morris relented. "But be here at 5 the next morning."

"Yes sir," Blink sighed. "Merry Christmas, Mr. Delancy."

"Bah Humbug!"

Blink again just shook his head and left for the day. It was his favorite time of the day, when he could go home and see his family. Morris also enjoyed that particular part of day, mostly because people were rushing about and were far too busy to worsen his mood with their shouts of "Merry Christmas" which he would always ignore.

As was his custom, and despite what he said about hanging it, Morris stopped in at a pub on his way home. Oscar and he used to stop by every day after closing to get a bite to eat and maybe a pint to hold up against the cold New York City winters; and then after Oscar had passed on, Morris continued simply for feeling close to the only family he knew cared about him.

"Your usual?" the bartender, one Spot Conlon, asked cleaning out a mug.

"Yeah Conlon, the usual," Morris replied picking at the pretzels in their basket. He ate in a daze and threw back his pint of Guinness without much hesitation.

"What's with you Delancy?" Spot asked. Not that he really cared about Morris Delancy, the man could have keeled over for all he cared, the lousy tipper that he was. No, his inquiry was more just cursory, making small talk with the customers so that he could get the hell out and get home before everything shut down.

"It ain't none of your damn business Conlon," Morris growled slamming down the money that he owed before leaving. If he hadn't been practically running out the door, Spot would have chased him down because the pub had raised its prices. But, he knew he wouldn't have caught up and so he mumbled something about Morris dying in a pile of snow before pulling the rest of the payment out of the tip jar.

Bad mood permanently intact, Morris made his way home. It was a meager place, just a small apartment that he and Oscar had shared. The landlady was nice enough, he supposed, she mostly left them alone. Sometimes she tried to bring a bit of cheer into their lives. Oscar had loved that, Morris he tolerated it until Oscar died. This particular evening when he paused to open the door, he found much to his vexation, a wreath hanging on the door.

_Merry Christmas Morris,_ it read in a sickeningly cheerful shade of red.

"Humbug on Christmas!" he yelled taking it down and promptly depositing it in the garbage chute. He was mumbling under his breath as he pulled out the key and prepared to insert it into the lock when he found to his amazement, the face of his brother on the door where the knocker should be.

"Oscar?" he asked reaching out to touch it. As soon as his fingers made contact, the image had disappeared and cold metal met his fingertips. Shaking his head, he opened the door and quickly ran inside. The lights were all out as he didn't want to waste money on keeping things lit if he wasn't there to see it. Flipping on one lone light over the door he closed it behind him, his breath crystalizing in the air. Again why pay for the heat if you weren't going to use it? Warily he looked around to see if someone was playing a trick on him. _Get a hold of yourself Morris, Oscar's been gone for six years, why are you seeing his reflection all of a sudden?_ Thoroughly convinced that it was merely a trick of his eyes in the dim light, he set about going over the accounts for Delancy and Sons. A fire eked out a small amount of heat from the small amount of wood Morris had used while he sat in his favorite chair and worked figures for the company. He suddenly heard the sound of ringing and as he was dozing off, the sound startled him. He sat up straight with heart pounding when the sound ceased. He let out the breath that he hadn't realized he was holding, taking a moment to relax.

"," a voice hissed from behind him. A chill swept down his spine as Morris tried to summon the courage to turn, but that wasn't necessary. Before him stood the figure of his uncle, though different somehow.

"Uncle Weese?" Morris asked sure his eyes were playing tricks on him. For just through his uncle's face, he could see the picture of the two of them from the mantelpiece; a disturbing sight to behold, indeed.

"Morris, what have you done?" Weisel wailed. "Your hate is consuming you!"

"I see no reason to love. Everything that I've ever loved has been brutally robbed from me!"

"Be that as it may, you must learn to love. And then only then will you find peace."

"I have peace," Morris scoffed looking away from his uncle.

"Then why do you lay awake at night plagued by nightmares?"

"I have problems with eating too late, you know that."

"Morris, I have died and I tell you now, mend your ways before your deeds condemn you!" Weisel shouted. Morris briefly hoped no one would call and complain of shouting.

"And just how is that supposed to happen?"

"You will be visited by three spirits. Learn from them, or mark my words you will suffer!"

"Three spirits, please Uncle Weese, don't you think that's a bit dramatic?"

"Dramatic? You're talking to a ghost kid, isn't that dramatic enough?" Wiesel sighed. Morris nodded that it was.

"Expect the first ghost tonight when the bell tolls one!" Wiesel wailed before the light emanating from him faded and left Morris alone in his room once more. Still shaken by the night's events, Morris picked up a book on finance before falling into a very deep sleep.


End file.
